


Emergency Room

by magneticdice



Series: A Very, Merry Gallavich Christmas [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 21:02:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magneticdice/pseuds/magneticdice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey gets tired of waiting for Ian, who's late for their meeting, but panics when he finds out why the redhead didn't show up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Emergency Room

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a Christmas fic series I'm gonna write... I was inspired by a prompt from xthatsclaudia on tumblr. Also, all of these stories will be set in an ideal world where the bad part of 3x666 didn't happen and their relationship was able to progress normally.

**Emergency Room**

Mickey sat in the dugout at the baseball field with a small box on his lap and his hands deep in the pockets of his winter coat, waiting for Ian to show up. He was almost an hour late already and Mickey was getting pissed. No, scratch that. He had been pissed thirty minutes ago. Now he was just worried, however gay that sounded. It wasn't like Gallagher to just not show up without a word. He'd been fine when Mickey had seen him at the Kash and Grab that morning, but now that he thought about it, Mickey hadn't gotten any texts from the kid for hours.

He took one last hit from his cigarette and tossed it aside into the frostbitten grass as he finally made up his mind to go to the Gallagher house and see what the fuck was going on. With the box safely stowed in his coat, he began the trek. He called Ian twice during the walk over, but both calls went straight to voicemail.

Mickey reluctantly rang the doorbell and waited on the front stoop. It was cold enough now that his breath was making little puffs of steam each time he exhaled. He tightened his scarf around his neck. A short redheaded girl opened the door, face red and splotchy. Her cheeks were still wet with tears.

Mickey worried his lip and tried not to make eye contacts with the girl.

“Is Ian here?” he asked.

The girl's eyes welled up and she let out a sob.

“Debs?” came a voice from inside the house.

_Great,_ Mickey thought. _More people._

Fiona stepped into the doorway and put her arm around the now-bawling pre-teen. She glared at Mickey, assuming he'd done something to make the little one resume her crying.

Mickey raised his hands up, as if in surrender. “Don't look at me like that. All I did was ask if Gall—I mean, _Ian—_ was here.”

Fiona's face transformed at his words. Her eyes softened and a frown overtook the harsh line her lips had been in a moment ago. 

“He's at the hospital,” she said. There was another sob from the younger sister. Fiona patted her back, attempting to comfort her. “Shhh... It's not your fault, Debbie,” she cooed into the redhead's ear.

Mickey didn't wait to see if the girl stopped crying or not. He was down the stairs and past the gate in a heartbeat.

His mind was racing with his worst fears as he sat on the train. There was no way to get to the hospital any faster. He subconsciously bounced his knee up and down to the annoyance of everyone else sitting near him, and he chewed his thumbnail until he accidentally drew blood with his teeth. 

_A gay bashing. It had to be a gay bashing. Someone probably saw him kissing that old geezer and attacked them both. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._

He stared helplessly at the subway map that was behind the protective glass by the door across from him. He only had one more stop to go.

As soon as the train pulled into the station, Mickey bolted through the doors, down the stairs, practically running the entire time. He wasn't even thinking about where he was going; his mind was a total fucking mess. His legs led him through the city streets and to the hospital. 

He somehow communicated that he was looking for Gallagher to the nurse and she directed him to the right place. He'd been ready for a fight, ready to push his way past anyone who wouldn't let him get to where he needed to be, but it hadn't come down to that. The nurse had been really nice and had told him exactly how to get to the radiology waiting room.

_Radiology... That meant that Ian might have broken bones._ _Fuck fuck fuck._

Mickey got off the elevator and followed the signs. As he rounded the corner, heart still racing, he suddenly froze in place. There he was: Ian Gallagher. Sitting in the waiting room next to Lip, dressed in his stupid ROTC uniform and wringing his hat in his hands, worry written all over his face. Mickey did a quick scan of Ian but couldn't see anything wrong with him.

Lip spotted Mickey first, and gave Ian a nudge with his elbow.

“Mickey?” the redhead said when he looked up from staring down at his hat like it had offended him.

He couldn't run away now. Mickey had no choice but to step forward. He looked at Gallagher guiltily.

“What are you doing here?” Ian asked, clearly confused by Mickey's presence.

“You weren't answering your phone,” Mickey tried to say casually, but he was worrying his bottom lip in true Milkovich fashion—a dead giveaway of his nerves.

Ian patted the pockets of his uniform until he found the small silver flip-phone and held it up to Mickey. “They made me turn it off when we got to the hospital.”

“Oh.” It was all Mickey could think to say. He was still panting a little from his mad dash to Radiology from the ER.

“But why are you here?” Ian pressed.

“Why are _you_ here?” Mickey countered.

“Debbie and Carl got into a fight. Carl slipped and fell down the stairs, and they think he broke his leg in addition to the concussion he has. They're taking an x-ray now to make sure they know what's going on. Fiona had to stay home and watch Debs and Liam 'cause Veronica wasn't home. Lip and I brought Carl here, so that everyone wouldn't have to come down to the hospital too.”

That made total sense. _Absolute_ fucking sense. And of course the nurse had just told him where to go to find “Gallagher” since he hadn't specified _which_ Gallagher he'd been looking for...

Ian and Lip were just staring at him, expecting him to respond, but all he could do was stand there looking like an idiot. He could feel his face getting red from the sudden change in temperature between the inside of the hospital and the bitter winter chill from outside. No, it had nothing to do with Mickey's embarrassment at his little overreaction. 

“I'm gonna go have a cigarette while you two lovebirds sort your shit,” Lip told them. He sneered at Mickey as he walked past him and out of the waiting room towards the elevator. Mickey was proud of himself for not punching Ian's dickhead brother before the puffy-eyed prick left.

Ian flashed Mickey an apologetic look and then sat back down. Mickey took the identical plastic seat next to him. He hated the fact that Gallagher had told his brother about them, but at least Lip hadn't outed him to the whole neighborhood. Mickey looked around the waiting room: there was an old lady sitting in the corner of the room with knitting needles, and a middle-aged man with his arm in a cast dozing in the seats opposite them. 

“We were supposed to meet at the dugouts tonight,” he said to the redhead, his voice as low as it could be without sounding like a whisper.

“Oh shit, Mick...”

“It was _your_ stupid idea anyway, Gallagher,” Mickey continued. “You know I don't give a flying fuck about Christmas.”

“I know! I know... I totally forgot. I had ROTC after work and then all this shit happened with Carl and I completely forgot. Sorry...”

“Yeah, whatever. Here,” Mickey said, taking the small box out of his coat and tossing it into Gallagher's lap. It wasn't wrapped or anything, but Mickey had swiped the white, 4-inch box from the dollar store.

“You didn't have to come all the way here, Mick. Lip n' I coulda waited for Carl alone, and we could have just swapped gifts tomorrow. Actually, it would have been more fitting since it's only the 23rd today.”

Mickey sighed in relief. Ian had _no_ idea why Mickey had rushed over to hospital, thinking _he'd_ been the one hurt instead of Carl. Well, Mickey sure as hell wasn't going to tell Gallagher the truth if the younger boy hadn't figured it out. If Ian thought that Mickey was only there to swap gifts or whatever, or to keep him company while he waited for his little brother, then he could just go on thinking that. Even the latter reason sounded less gay than the truth—that Mickey had been worried senseless that Ian had been hurt.

“Technically it's already the 24th,” Mickey said, tilting his head towards the clock in the waiting room that showed that it was already well past midnight.

“Oh, cool. Merry Christmas,” he said to Mickey with a smile. Ian picked the box up from his lap and shook it a bit. The contents made a little clinking sound. “It's not that heavy,” Ian said, with a smirk. 

“The lighter ones are more expensive,” Mickey explained, defensively.

Ian raised his eyebrows before he opened the box's lid. He reached in and took out what appeared to be a ball of crumpled newspapers. As Ian eagerly unraveled the paper, Mickey looked around the waiting room again. He hated Christmas and he hated giving gifts to people because of this moment right now—waiting to see how much of a mistake he'd made in picking out what to give as a present.

Ian let out a choked laugh and Mickey's eyes darted back to the redhead's face. “If you don't fucking like 'em, I'll take 'em back. You don't have to laugh about it,” he said, reaching for the newspaper.

“No!” Ian shouted, then lowered his voice when the man across from them stirred. “No, I want it. I didn't mean to laugh. I was just surprised. Where'd you find _throwing stars?_ ” Ian asked, sounding amazed.

“My dad was buying guns off some guy and I saw them in the trunk. I made a side-deal with him; no biggie.”

Ian picked one of the stars up and tested the edge. “They're so sharp!” he said, before frowning. “Do you know how to use them?”

“Yeah man, my uncle used to let us play with his all the time. I'll teach you.”

Ian smiled again. “This is awesome. I gotta make sure Carl doesn't see them, though, otherwise broken bones will be the least of our problems...” He laughed at his own lame joke and Mickey just shook his head at how stupid Gallagher was.

“I picked yours up last night but I didn't get a chance to wrap it up or anything...” Ian told him as he reached into another one of the hundred secret pockets of his uniform and pulled out a silver chain. He let it drop into Mickey's outstretched hand and Mickey noticed that it wasn't just any chain, it was _his_ chain—the one Patrick Gallagher had stolen from him a few months ago during the intimidation-session-gone-wrong.

“Are you serious?”

Ian grinned. “I bought it back,” he said with a smug smile. Ian leaned over and whispered into Mickey's ear, “You look so hot in it.”

Now there was no way to hide his blush, so instead Mickey busied himself with removing his scarf so that he could put the chain on.

“Good gift?” Ian wondered. Mickey nodded. 

“Good enough to get you to come over for Christmas dinner?” he ventured.

“You sure you're not the one with the concussion?” Mickey joked.

Ian frowned but by now Mickey hoped the younger boy knew when to not push it. He felt bad but there was no way he would go to a big family dinner at the Gallagher house. _No_ fucking way.

“How 'bout a Christmas blowjob instead?” Mickey offered

Ian chuckled. “How's that different from a regular blowjob?”

“I wear a fucking Santa hat while I suck your dick, that's how.”

They both laughed. 

“Deal, Mick.”


End file.
